The Shadow's Reflection
by Auburn Red
Summary: Sequel to "Hide in Shadow," a dead body sends Hamish on a pursuit through a brave new frightening world


The Shadow's Reflection

By Auburn Red

I do not own these characters. The world of Hamish Macbeth and Lochbubh belong to M.C. Beaton and BBC Scotland. The world of the Last Enemy belongs to Peter Barry and the BBC, unless otherwise stated. (There are also characters referred to or shown that belong to other sources, they will be noted accordingly) This is not for profit, just for entertainment.

This is a direct sequel to my story "Hide in Shadow". As previously, the world of Hamish Macbeth is a combination of the books and the TV series. (Characters and situations from both sources are referred to and Macbeth's background is based upon both sources). Like before, I elaborated on some things particularly with the younger Macbeth siblings and the fact that this story is an Alternate Universe.

Oh and I should mention this has some HEAVY DUTY SPOILERS for the Last Enemy, whereas in the previous story they were tap danced around (with some theories of mine) Just thought I would let you all know.

Chapter One: These Wounds, They Will Not Heal

_She stood below the hills, but she could hear the gun shot and see the man fall. She wanted to scream and cry out, but she was frozen rooted beside the wheel of her car. Call Hamish you idjit, her mind seemed to say, you are an eyewitness to a murder! She was about to obey that part of her mind ,start the car, and head straight for Lochdubh or at least pick up her mobile when she saw another sight that made her stop in her tracks, the shooter. He stood over his kill with an expression of satisfaction and was it triumph? She had recognized him and would have known his eyes, the shape of his face, the stoop of his shoulders anywhere. "No," was all she could manage to whisper. She shut her eyes hoping that it was a bad dream. When she reopened them, the shooter had disappeared. She gathered her wits about her and started the car. She turned her car around on the road past Lochdubh getting away from that image of the man being killed and the shooter that she knew all too well. She knew one thing; she would never call Hamish again._

Isobel Sutherland awoke once more feeling ill. She ran to the loo and gulped dry air. When the nausea had passed, Isobel turned on the water in the sink. She let the water run across her hands, then splashed it on her face. Her breath caught in short desperate gasps as she struggled to compose herself and shake the awful memory from her.

When Isobel felt relaxed enough, she returned to her bedroom and glanced outside at the London skyline. She thought Edinburgh was large, it was nothing compared to this. The lights moved in an almost synchronous motion as though it were some code. From the distance, she could see the London Eye peering over the skyline as though it were a searchlight watching everyone and everything. Of course, she thought, it practically is these days. The alarm of emergency vehicles roared by her flat. Her reporter's instincts wondered what the trouble was, but she didn't have the energy to pursue the matter so she let it be. Isobel considered turning on the television, but the images wouldn't block her mind. Besides being a reporter and blogger, she was constantly surrounded by news. She really could use the break from the world's current events. Her current events took precedence in her mind.

She spent much time going over the scene that drove her from Lochdubh late at night nearly three weeks ago. She had gone back for a visit, but seeing that awful sight, she knew that she could never return and pretend things were the way they were before. She could see the man staggering over, then falling over the hill and most of all the shooter, Hamish, her once-boyfriend looking down at his kill. It didn't take a lot of investigative research to figure out that the dead man was Martin Brandell, a man who had been arrested and from what she understood just as quickly released for the murder of Hamish's father. Brandell was reported a missing person and for all she knew he may now be food for the carrions or the bottom feeders. She could tell herself that Hamish acted out of revenge or perhaps self-defense. That in some way he was justified in committing the deed. But what she couldn't forget was the look that he had, that hateful satisfaction. It was a look that she had never seen in him before and never wanted to see again.

Isobel buried her head in her hands and rubbed at her hair. She couldn't think on this anymore. She was in London for a job and she intended to do it. Isobel put her headphones on and flipped on the music on her I-Pod. Light New Age and classical music with nature sounds filled her troubled mind and blocked the noises from the city. She lay down and let the music fill her as she finally welcomed sleep.

Hamish paced back and forth looking severe at the suspect. "Well," he said. "Do you want to confess?" The suspect wouldn't answer giving him a challenging look that said 'try me.' Hamish spoke again. "Because you see here is what I think. I think that you lost your temper and had a bit of a scuffle. Then when he took a swing at you, I think you seized the perfect opportunity. You decided to punch him into near unconsciousness; does that sound at all possible?"

Hamish felt confident. He had plenty of experience interrogating suspects. He had seen it many times on television and movies. The right questions often sent suspects into tears of confession. Of course the suspects were rarely ever sullen 13 year old boys.

"Can I go now?" Alec Macbeth, Hamish's younger brother asked his teacher, Esme Maury-Campbell. His voice showed less of a willingness to break down to spill everything and more of an embarrassed 'I can't believe my older brother is doing this to me' tone.

Esme nodded, but Hamish interrupted. "In a minute." He replied. "Now see if you confess then it will go a lot easier on you in the long run."

Alec rolled his eyes. "Jimmy Plankton called Murrie a retard and so I slugged him on the lip."

"So why do you have a black eye," Hamish asked.

"I didn't slug him fast enough," Alec answered dryly.

"And that gave you license to knock the boy practically senseless?" Hamish shot back. "Jimmy's father rang me and said that they sent him to hospital. He's going to need three stitches!"

"Only three?" Alec said sounding disappointed. Hamish grabbed him by the arm very tightly.

"This would be the perfect time for you to be quiet," Hamish hissed.

"But constable if I do that, I won't be able to answer your questions," Alec answered innocently. Despite his brother's normally easy-going nature, it always amazed Alec how he could silence anyone with a look as he was doing right now. Alec shut up.

"We're suspending Alec for three days," Esme replied.

"Three days, what a coincidence," Hamish said tartly. "That's exactly how long you will be under restriction!"

Alec groaned. "What? That is not fair!"

"Want to make it four?" Hamish countered. "Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to have a word with Mrs. Campbell for a few minutes. Go on!" He ordered when Alec left the office.

Hamish sighed wearily. "This isn't the first time that this has come up about Murron," Esme said. "Some of the other students had been teasing her about being in Primary 2 as well."

"I was afraid that she'd get that," Hamish replied. "She's gotten that her whole life." His sister, the youngest child in the Macbeth family, was the product of a late-in-life pregnancy. She had developmental problems and the mentality of a 6-year-old.

"If this were a larger school, I would recommend a specific education class for her," Esme suggested. "The only alternative that I can think of is for her to go to a special school in Aberdeen but that would be too far away."

"Aye and expensive," Hamish agreed. "We will just have to make do with what we have then. I'll take them home." He said leaving her office saying good-bye to his friend.

Hamish pulled the Land Rover over in front of his house behind the police station. The two children ran inside after he unlocked the door. "I have to go back on my rounds. I will be back in time to start supper. Murron, sit right in the sitting room and mind Alec," Hamish said gently then his voice became firm. "Alec, you keep an eye on her. No leaving the house, no phone calls, and no telly for the rest of the evening."

Alec gasped. "You can't order me about like that!"

"Och, I think I just did," Hamish commanded. "Anderson will be in the police station so he will be able to tell if you disobey me!"

Alec stormed upstairs but turned around. "I know what you're trying to do and you can forget it! You're not Dad and you're never going to be!" He slammed the door behind him.

"No because if I were Dad you would have felt the skin of me hand by now!" Hamish shot back. "Looks like, I'm the closest thing that you got to it now ain't I?" He sank down onto a nearby chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Alec and Murron had been placed into his custody since the death of their parents -their father by murder and their mother from the aftereffects of a stroke and grief from losing her husband. Originally they had lived with his younger sister, Fionnulla and her husband Joe Campbell, but Fee and her family were now out of the country. Joe was serving in an operation that would take him out for five years. Since he didn't want to be away from his family, Joe arranged to have the immediate family of his wife and two sons- Fee and three year old Joe Jr. and newborn, Angus-stay with him at a family base. While that was good for Fee, it was bad news for Hamish. He had originally volunteered to take in Fee and Alec temporarily to relieve Fee during her pregnancy. At least then she was on hand to provide assistance, even if they didn't always see eye to eye. Now Hamish had to raise the younger siblings by himself with only communicating with his other siblings via phone and email, and it was getting to be a stressful situation.

Hamish scooted over to Murron. The little sandy-haired girl was oblivious as always playing with a doll and a teddy bear. Hamish's dog, Jock, looked interested at the young girl playfully chewing on the doll's hair. "Stop it, Jock," Murron said. "That's very naughty! Hamish, Jock won't leave Annie alone!"

Hamish smiled. "Jock," he snapped his fingers as the Westie sidled away. Besides Hamish, Jock had developed a close bond with Murron as well. "Jock just wants to play with Annie."

"But Annie's my dolly," Murron protested sticking her mouth into a pout. Hamish grinned. It was hard to believe that she was 11-years-old. Most girls her age would have long given up dolls in favor of pre-teen idols and putting on makeup.

"Well I'll just have to get Jock a dolly of his own then," Hamish replied. He stood up.

"Hamish is Alec in trouble?" she asked. "He was only trying to help."

The constable sighed. "I know that, lassie. I'll talk with him about it. In the meantime mind your brother," he said. "I'll be back later. We'll have supper and we'll go over your flash cards when I get back alright."

Murron sighed. "Alright, am I stupid? That mean boy said I was."

Hamish shook his head. "Well then he's pretty stupid for thinking that isn't he?" Murron frowned but her brother tickled her on the neck causing the little girl to laugh. "Everyone's smart in their own ways, Murrie. In some ways you are one of the smartest people I know." He kissed her forehead and rose to leave.

"Hamish you're not Dad," Murron said almost in an afterthought. "You're Hamish and that's alright too."

"See what I mean, Murrie? Thanks," Hamish said to his baby sister. He called upstairs. "Alec back in a few! Watch your sister."

"Fine," Alec's voice called from his bedroom. Hamish then left the house.

After the stress of the day, Hamish decided that he needed a drink. He stopped by the Lochdubh Hotel. The regular patrons were all there including Esme. He ordered one beer from Agnes and Barney Meldrum at the bar.

Lachlan MacRae Sr. and Jr. were discussing their latest business venture: big game fishing. "We are going to rent a big trawler and go down into the loch to catch some of them. We'll make a fortune son!"

"But Dad," Lachie said. "Aren't we going to have to pay to rent the boat?"

Lachlan started as if that thought hadn't occurred to him. "Who's the brains in our here proprietorship?"

Hamish took a spot between his friends Doc Brown and The Campbells. "Are Alec and Murron alright?" Esme asked. "I hope that I wasn't too hard on him."

Hamish shook his head. "No, they'll be alright. Alec could use a few lumps on the head. He'll get over it. In a way, he did the right thing. I might have done the same if someone had called Murron a name like that. But he has a temper that needs to be checked. I love my brother, but some days I just want to wring his neck." He noted the look of amused grins from some of his friends. "What?"

Lachlan turned from his son to the constable. He said "My time machine works!"

Lachie Jr. was confused. "I didn't know that you built a time machine, dad!"

Lachlan sighed at his son's incompetence. "I didn't, Lachie," he said as though he were a small child. "I was being facetious."

"Is it catching?" the young man asked.

"Is what catching?" his father replied.

"Being facetious," Lachie whined. "I don't want that! I could die young!"

"Lachie, I love you but you're a plonker," his father shot back. "I meant that I was being ironic." Before Lachie could ask another question, he spoke again. "I was making a humorous observation because Hamish sounded just like his late father, God rest his soul, when he used to complain about Ian!"

"Oh," Lachie replied.

Agnes and Barney exchanged confused glances. "Who's Ian?" Agnes asked.

"My brother, "Hamish answered. The Meldrums didn't look any more enlightened.

"But we know all of your brothers and sisters," Barney said. "You don't have a brother named Ian."

"I had a brother named Ian," Hamish replied shortly. "We were twins. I hadn't seen him in awhile."

"I didn't know that you were a twin, Hamish," Vicki Sadler replied from the corner.

"Well you learn something new every day," Hamish answered. "Would you excuse me for a moment?" He left the bar.

"What's wrong with him?" Agnes asked.

"They don't like to talk about Ian, the Macbeths," Doc replied.

"Don't blame them," Lachlan sniffed. Some of the other locals agreed.

"What was he like?" Vicki's husband, Paul asked.

"He was born to hang surely," Lachlan replied. "Some bairns were born bad and he was one of them."

"He was wild as a sea rat and twice as restless," Alice Robb said.

"He used to always shoplift from my store," Rory replied.

"He was often sent down in school for various infractions," Esme explained. "He had an awful temper that used to get him in fights. I think the only person who ever had the power to calm him down was Hamish himself."

"He was a bully," Lachie replied with a shudder. "He used make me do stuff like bum fags for him. He buggered me senseless all the time."

"Finally an answer," Lachlan dryly quipped.

"What happened to him?" Barney asked. "And why is he such a big secret around here?"

Esme shrugged. "No one really knew. When they, Hamish and Ian, were 16 Ian disappeared and no one had seen him since. Most people thought that he either ran away or slipped into the loch at night and drowned."

"There were also rumors at the time that the boy was a pansy," Lachlan said gruffly. "Anyway, he was very close to one of them Traveler boys and most people thought they'd run off together."

"How awful for him to go missing like that," Agnes said. Many of the newcomers who had never heard of Ian or this story nodded. "The poor family and they never found him or a trace of him?"

"Just his jacket," Rory replied. "But not a lad to go with it."

Esme nodded. "It was awful for Hamish. He and Ian were close. Twins are you know, they practically could read each other's minds. After Ian left, it seemed like a part of Hamish died right along with him. His family moved to Glasgow shortly after that."

"I didn't know that was the reason," Barney said in surprise. "I knew they moved when he was a lad but I never knew why."

"I suppose that's one of the reasons why Hamish has always been so closed off from others," Doc said. "Also, why he's so hard on Alec. Alec is practically Ian's spit and image at that age. He doesn't want him to end up like Ian, I suppose."

Hamish listened in on some of the conversation but couldn't bear to hear the rest. He walked the streets of downtown Lochdubh for his afternoon patrol. He shook his head and lit a cigarette. Jock as always was by his side. Ian Macbeth, his brother, had long been a ghost in his mind, a shadow that he sometimes thought that he imagined. Only recently, that shadow once again reentered his life and not in a pleasant way that he always hoped that their reunion would be. The other residents could speculate all that they wanted to about Ian. Hamish wouldn't tell, he was only trying to figure out the truth himself. The truth was much worse and more complicated than any of them would have ever imagined.

The next day, Lachlan MacRae moved the rickety boat into the middle of the loch. Lachie was surprised that it was able to move at all. "Are you sure this thing will work, Dad?" Lachie asked. Since he had lived his entire life near the loch, Lachie wasn't normally prone to seasickness. However, the realization that this wooden white contraption was practically termites on a cruise made his stomach churn up and down.

"Come on, now Lachie," his father encouraged. "We are standing on the threshold of greatness and this will be the chariot to take us there! It is a good bargain, my boy!"

"How big a bargain," MacRae Jr. muttered.

"You have to spend money to make money," his father answered. "Now drop the net and let's see what comes up!"

Lachie shrugged and wheeled the net loose. The wheel was rusted over , so Lachie had to kick and struggle at it to get it to loosen. He pushed the wheel forward. He heaved as the net sank into the water. When the net finally fell in the water, Lachie practically collapsed against the wheel. " That's fine Lachie," Lachlan encouraged. They felt the net tug at the boat, less than five minutes later but to Lachie seemed like 10 seconds. "Alright, pull them up," Lachlan said.

Lachie sighed and then moved the wheel forward. The wheel squeaked as he moved it forward. The net wouldn't budge. "Dad," Lachie whined. "It won't move!"

"Put some muscle into it, boy," Lachlan commanded. Lachie tried harder, but still it wouldn't move. The older man grunted as he helped his son turn the wheel. The two pushed the net out of the water. To their delight, trout and other freshwater fish appeared in the net. "I told you we would be rich!" Lachlan cheered. The father and son hugged delighted.

Lachie glanced at the net and stopped mid-leap for joy. "What's that in the middle of the net there?"

MacRae looked where his son pointed and headed to the net for a closer look. Something lay in the center as the sea life flopped around it. It was still and lay face-down. Lachlan's eyes widened. "It's a body!" He yelled.

Lachie began to hyperventilate. He felt his lunch churning to his throat. "A body what are we going to do?" he asked terrified. "What are we going to do?"

Lachlan slapped his son across the face. "Pull yourself together man," he commanded. "Use your brain and do something useful!"

Lachie nodded and turned to the stern. He pulled himself together, used his brain, and did the only useful thing that he could think of to do: Stuck his head out the window and vomited into the water below!

Hamish parked his Land Rover behind the already gathering crowd. He gently pushed past the witnesses as the body was being towed out from the loch. "Coming through," he said. "Police business, nothing to see here. Go on now." He walked up to the portly man who called him earlier.

"Ah, it's yourself, Hamish," Lachlan MacRae Sr. announced. "So glad you could join us."

"I had to drop Murron off at school," Hamish replied. "And had to make sure Alec stayed out of trouble." Like many kids his age, Alec did not get up early unless he really had to so Hamish let him sleep rather than deal with a quarrelsome teenager early in the morning. "So what about this lad?"

Hamish walked closer. "We found him this morning," Lachie Jr. said There was some disgust, but Hamish could also hear the excitement as though the younger man was thrilled about being in a mystery. "I bet it was a Mafia hit. You know sleeps with the fishies?"

Hamish shook his head. "You watch too many movies, lad." He examined the body. It was of a built man, mid-to-late thirties. Despite the refuse and sea life growing in his hair, Hamish could see that he had once been blond. He glanced closer. The face was bleeding, so he was unrecognizable to the physical viewer. But Hamish knew, he just knew who it was, the way a child would look at a pile of clothes in the dark and recognize a monster, the way a woman could walk across a crowded street and recognize her rapist. He knew who the man was, Martin Brandell: the man who killed numerous people including Hamish's father. "I'll have him brought to the station," he said.

Isobel stood in front of Parliament, her recorder in hand. She was staring at the blond woman who spoke, he Northern Irish lilt resounding in each word. "When TIA enters through all of the United Kingdom, only then will we consider ourselves truly safe," she said. Several reporters shot their hands up. Eleanor Brooke, Government Minister, member of the Cabinet, and on the fast track to being the number two person in Whitehall under the Prime Minister scanned each reporter. She pointed directly at Isobel. "Now you Ms…"

"Isobel Sutherland, Edinburgh Evening News," she said making her voice loud and clear. "TIA hasn't reached as far as some areas in the northern U.K., particularly in Scotland. In fact, there are many constituents up there who have expressed a lack of interest or acceptance in the issue, how do you intend to address that?"

Ms. Brooke smiled icily. "Well Ms. Sutherland, we would remind them that it is imperative for their National safety and their duty as members of the United Kingdom to get with the program so to speak," she said. "Now I would ask you a question is the reluctance based more on their issue of national sovereignty whether Scotland wishes to abide by London rule?"

Isobel reddened. She was stunned. She knew that part of that reluctance was true. "Well Madam, no, " replied with a slight stammer. "Many are concerned more about the subject of civil liberties-"

Eleanor Brooke continued as if she hadn't heard Isobel's reply. "Because being from Northern Ireland myself, I understand where that distrust comes from but one thing to consider is that despite our flags or our various countries' histories we are all British subjects now. We should all be willing to forgo our various national prides for the greater good of protecting our citizens."

Isobel felt like she wanted to crawl under a rock and die. This wasn't her first encounter with Ms. Brooke, nor did she feel that it would be the last. Most people would have described the blond Cabinet minister as charming, witty, and bright. She may have been all that, but Eleanor just seemed fake to Isobel. Her smiles seemed to be forced and the way she spoke about other people seemed like a woman who would later gossip about them unmercifully at a party. However, she also had a tendency to make Isobel feel as though she were a country rube asking all of the ridiculously dumb questions. She had a feeling that wasn't accidental.

Eleanor responded to another reporter. "What about the proposals of identification chips being inserted into people? Will that be made mandatory?"

Eleanor smiled thinly. "For now, that is an experimental phase. There are no foreseeable plans to make them mandatory. But if it was, now, honest citizens wouldn't have anything to hide now would they?" She answered a few more questions before the press conference ended.

Isobel gathered her things and edged away from the crowd. She put down a few comments on her blog and readied to put a video later that evening. She checked the comments. Many supporters and of course many critics had left their messages. She laughed at some of the ones that said things like "U stooped yocal bitch! Dun't now nothin'."_ At least I know how to spell_, she thought dryly. Years ago, comments like that would have upset her. But she learned that to be involved with the public, one had to take the bad with the good. She placed her Blackberry in her purse. Out of the corner of her eye, Isobel saw someone standing across the street. Were they looking at the office or-She moved away from the crowd and turned to the corner and crossed the street. Sure enough the figure followed her. She might have dismissed him as a stalker or just a nutter, if she didn't recognize him. She didn't stop to ask herself why Hamish was dressed all in black, or why she was frightened of him. She just couldn't ignore what he did the last time that she saw him. She walked away, her feet getting faster and faster. She was about to break into a run when she stumbled into the arms of another man.

"I'm so glad to see you darling," she said breathless. The man looked down at the reporter with a confused expression on his face. Isobel stood on her tip toes and kissed him. She pulled away and whispered in his ear. "Pretend you're my boyfriend."

"No problem," the man whispered back. He leaned down to kiss her again, a rather awkward position because of the dramatic differences in their height. His voice became louder. "It's good to see you too as well. Did you miss me?"

"More than I can count," Isobel replied. "I can't wait until our wedding."

"Oh don't get too emotional," he said. "It won't be long now." Isobel glanced out of the corner of her eye and sighed with relief. "He's gone," she said. "Thank you, Mr.—?"

"Oh Ezzard," he said. "Stephen Ezzard." He took out his hand and Isobel shook it. Isobel blushed with embarrassment. She should have recognized him. She had seen him on the telly many times; Stephen Ezzard, Mathematician, Researcher, and face of TIA. He was everywhere, but lately seemed to have disappeared. She thought he seemed like a decent enough man, a bit confused but she did like him.

"My name is Isobel Sutherland," she replied. "Thank you again."

Stephen Ezzard smiled. "You're welcome. Just consider me a hero to ladies in distress."

Isobel laughed. The tone of his voice indicated that he had a self-depreciating sense of humor. "Are you in some kind of trouble?" he asked warily. "Who is the 'he' that you are concerned about?"

"My boy-well he's my former boyfriend," Isobel replied. She looked around as though she could conjure up his image just by referring to him.

"Does he hurt you?" Stephen asked.

Isobel shook her head. "No, not like that. It's-" She hesitated. Stephen Ezzard was a complete stranger to her. Would he know or even care about her problems? She had been keeping this to her chest for far too long though. "He did something that I would never have thought that he would do and that frightens me." She looked at his long face and saw something in him-loss, despair, and certainly understanding.

"I know what that's like," he said. "But sometimes people do things that don't seem to make sense for the right reasons."

"So do you think I should trust him?" Isobel asked.

Stephen shrugged. "I can't give you advice," he said wearily. "I can't help anyone these days. But, have you spoken to him about it?" She shook her head. "Then, I would at least question him to find out the truth."

Isobel nodded. "Thank you," she said. She shook his hand and walked away. "Thank you for your help."

Stephen smiled. "Thank you for the kiss. It was rather pleasant." Isobel laughed and turned away.

Isobel headed across the street where she thought she saw Hamish. "Hamish," she called. She walked across the buildings near a church. It was silent, the gravestones filling her with terror. "Hamish, answer me please." She was desperate. "Hamish, I saw what happened. " Her voice echoed across the cemetery. "I don't know why you did it, but I just want to talk with you. Hamish, I'm worried about you and I'm still your friend."

David Russell stood behind the wall of the church hearing the voice of his twin brother's ex-girlfriend. He held out his gun from the holster. Isobel was getting more frantic. Three thoughts entered his mind about her: 1) She was a reporter and was often on the lookout for a good story 2) She had obviously seen him shoot Martin Brandell and believed that Hamish did it and 3) She was the nosiest busybody in the entire world. The only secret that she ever managed to keep was her years-long infatuation with Hamish. Russell held out his gun, holding it in his hands. Isobel continued to call for Hamish. She walked closer right across from Russell. If she turned around the corner, she would have been face-to-face with him. Russell aimed his gun, ready to point it at the reporter. Suddenly, a voice entered his head, as if from another life_: Should you ever change your mind or feel like coming home, you know where I live._. He thought for a minute and placed the gun back in the holster as he heard Hamish's voice once again in his head. "Shut up, Ham," David Russell nee, Ian Macbeth said to himself. as he walked away to one of his many hideouts."Just shut the fuck up."

Hamish sat in the police station investigating the dead man's body. He should have waited for the forensics report from Inverness. But he knew that Haley's Comet would reappear in the sky before DI Bruce ever came for it, besides he needed to give him something more to report. He pulled on a pair of gloves and picked up a pair of tweezers. He reached in and pulled out the bullets from his back and within his face. Hamish felt sick. Brandell's body had been in the water for near a month, rigor mortis had already set in and maggots and other parasites were making use of the body. It wasn't just the body that made him violently ill. It was the fact that staring at this man had brought all of the feelings back: His father's murder and three other former colleagues of his from his days in the military as well as another woman, his father's involvement in a mission that resulted in the deaths of several schoolchildren in the then-Soviet Union, and furthermore the discovery of a training facility that trained child agents to serve British Intelligence including Hamish's brother Ian.

Hamish thought or hoped rather that he had put all of those things behind him when he said good-bye to Ian that night, the night that he shot and killed Martin Brandell after he threatened Hamish. He seemed to be rejecting Hamish's help, but in the end seemed to be asking for it. He remembered his brother's words: _The only thing that you can do for me is get in your car, go home, and forget you ever saw me or talked to me_. . It took a half-second for Hamish to hide the bullet. _The other thing I can do for you Ian is at least give you a running start_, he thought.

"If you want to know my theory, I think he was shot," the voice of Detective Jim Anderson announced as he entered the police station. Anderson settled in Lochdubh after the passing of Hamish's friend and former partner, T.V. John McIver and Anderson's dismissal by Bruce, whom they now derided as a "loathsome pompous ass" of course hardly ever to his face. Anderson was still a city boy, and was often at odds with Lochdubh's slower pace but was a good friend to the constable.

Hamish surreptiously placed the bullet into his pocket. "Aye, you would win that one," he said. "However we don't have any information about who he is or any lead on the weapon."

"You know in most cities we have people who do this type of thing," Anderson said looking green and heaving at the smell.

"No kidding," Hamish mocked. "Why don't we send for one of them? In case you've forgotten this police force consists of you and me. "

"Can we find anything about him?" Anderson asked.

Hamish shrugged. "Not unless we get word of his identity. We'd better contact Inverness."

"I'm way ahead of you. You know they have that new system in London, uh Total Information- Analysis?" Anderson said.

"Awareness," Hamish corrected. He was familiar with it and not just from the news. His younger brother, Murdo was one of the programmers for the system. Anderson nodded. "Maybe they might have something."

"If the Inverness or Glasgow forces have it, "Hamish prompted. "We don't have access."

"Anyway, it should make our search a lot easier," Anderson said.

Hamish grinned. "Not the way my sister, Robyn talks about it. She says 'it's one step closer from turning Britain into a dictatorship.' Of course considering some of the things I have heard she may not be too far off." His younger sister, Robyn was certainly a feisty one. An artist, she lived in Soho with her life partner, Marcia. The two were often involved in one political protest or another. In fact they were involved in a group, Magna Carta that was speaking out against this sort of thing.

Anderson reassured him. "I'm sure she's exaggerating. Those rumors of detention centers are just that, rumors. Has anyone actually seen anyone get carted off or put in concentration camps?"

"Well no, but-" Hamish began.

"It's just a tool that will help people like us catch criminals and terrorists easier," Anderson said to his friend.

"If you say so," Hamish said unconvinced.

A few hours later, there wasn't any more news than happened earlier. Frustrated, Hamish decided to go fishing to calm his mind. It would be a little while before he had to pick up Murron. However, he called Alec and his sleepy bored voice indicated that he was grouchy but other than that, he was fine. So finding a window of time, he decided to go fishing to clear his thoughts. Anderson waited in the police station for any word. The approaching car was almost an answer to his thoughts.

Anderson waited for Bruce to emerge. "You're early sir," he said.

"I'm always right on time, Anderson," Bruce said coolly. "Where is he?"

"In here sir," Anderson pointed. Bruce looked at the dead man and like everyone else sickened and heaved. "Kronk you and Smith take him!" The detectives nodded and towed him into the police car. DI Bruce may have been a seasoned veteran but even he had limits about facing a dead body that had been deceased for nearly three weeks.

". Is Macbeth here?", Anderson inquired.

"He's out fishing," Anderson said. "He will be back soon. What are those?" He asked pointing at the oddly shaped guns that Anderson realized for the first time that Bruce was holding. They were narrow and pointed looking like something out of a science fiction film.

"I have to give this to you and Macbeth," he said. "I would prefer to talk to you both at once."

"Speak of the devil," Anderson said. He noticed the constable arriving with his fishing pole and a large group of trout. Wee Jock stayed at his heels.

"Did you catch all of those fish?" Bruce asked.

"No, I talked them into giving themselves up," Hamish joked. He gave the fish over to a reluctant Anderson. "The body is unidentified. He had been shot."

"Were there any witnesses?" Bruce asked.

"None sir," Hamish said.

"What about gun shots, did anyone speak about hearing them?" Bruce asked.

"Sir, this is grouse hunting season," Hamish replied. "It's not uncommon to hear shots any time day or night."

"Well our equipment has gotten better thanks to TIA," Bruce answered. "We'll make a positive identification. There's another reason that I'm here. We have new requirements from London. These are for you."

He held out the odd weapons. "Oh, thank you, sir," Hamish said. "But I didn't get you anything especially not a- I want to say- blaster from _Star Wars_?"

Bruce smiled thinly. It was clear he was not in the mood for jokes. "I wish that they were. These are to scan for National I.D. cards. Every police officer in Britain is now required to carry them."

Hamish and Anderson glanced at each other. Neither believed what they were hearing. "Are you serious?" Hamish asked. "Even in a place like this?"

"Even in a place like this," Bruce repeated. "So far some of the smaller towns in our area have been lackadaisical when it comes to being connected, but that will change soon. "

"Still think this is a good idea?" Hamish asked his partner. Anderson shrugged as the constable turned to his superior officer. "I'm not about to do this, sir. First off, I know everyone in town by sight. I don't need their cards to remind me who's who. Second, most of the people either don't have cards or let them expire a long time ago. I'd be arresting half the town for this offense. And third of all, since when does London get off telling us how to run this town?"

"I'm sorry," Bruce said. "But this is not a request."

"As if people around here didn't think we were are fascist enough," Hamish said dryly.

"You are not in this business to be liked, Hamish," Bruce said. "You are in this to get the job done."

"Sir, this is ridiculous," Hamish said.

"Hamish, if you don't do it, we will get someone who will," Bruce shot back. "I don't like it any better than you do but it just has to be done. I'm truly sorry." Bruce's final tone indicated that he really didn't agree which helped only slightly. "We'll look into the dead man." Bruce said.

Patrick Nye received a phone call while he was in the lobby of the opera house. He held up a finger to his wife just as they were about to enter the theatre. "I'll be right back," he said.

"Pat, this is our anniversary," Diane said.

"It will take a minute," Nye assured his wife. He walked behind a hallway to give himself some privacy and checked the I.D. :Turney, Barbara. "What is it?" he asked.

"We may have a breach in security," Turney said. "I want you to look into it."

Nye tensed. "What type of breach?"

"A man has been found in Scotland," she said. "He was pulled out of a lake."

_That means what to me_, Nye wanted to say. "What's the problem?" he asked.

"It may be Martin Brandell," Turney said.

"Figures," Nye sighed. He knew that he would have to take care of the evidence and he knew that he wouldn't like it. He hung up the phone and headed straight for the theatre to explain to his wife why he had to leave on another "business trip.

Hamish questioned one of the farmers, Phil McGregor about some petty thefts in his barn, mostly sheep and swine. "So you didn't hear or see anything, did you?"

Phil shook his head. "No," he said. "I just thought that I would report it. I have a crop needs to be marked."

"Is there anyone that I could question?" Hamish replied. He looked out of the corner of his eye to see the window drapes open and then shut. "It could be some young person causing trouble. Maybe, I should contact some of the local bairns to see if they know anything."

"No," Phil said almost in shock. "I'm sure that they will get back. They may have just escaped!"

Once again, Hamish saw the drapes open and shut. "How long has your daughter been back from Aberdeen?"

"A few weeks," Phil answered reluctantly.

"And that's about as long as the livestock have gone missing?" Hamish said. "She knows how to handle them doesn't she?"

"Since the day she was born, "Phil replied. He sighed again. "She had a lot of problems in University, made a lot of bad friends and a lot of bad choices. She has a habit of taking things that she shouldn't and she owes money."

Hamish nodded. "I think she could use a talk with her dad." The constable hesitated. "I'm going to have to ask for your I.D."

Phil glared. Instantly, the formerly friendly farmer who was anxious about his daughter was replaced by a hostile suspect questioning the officer in front of him. "It's official procedure, Phil," Hamish said. "I'm sorry."

Phil held out his wallet and handed Hamish his I.D. Hamish shrugged and pushed it inside the detector and handed it back. "Thank you, Phil." Hamish entered his Land Rover. He was just about to start the car when he saw Phil spit in his direction.

Hamish drove into town and parked his car. Many of the townspeople looked at him warily. He waved to The MacRaes who looked down at him as if avoiding his gaze. Hamish sighed and entered Rory's store planning on buying snack food for Murron and Alec. He made his selections and approached the cash register.

Rory glanced at his purchases and rang them up. "15.75." he said. Hamish paid for them and Rory pointed at the sign: "No I.D. No purchases." Hamish sighed and handed Rory his card. Rory marked it as he took Hamish's money. The constable left the store and returned to his house.

Hamish sat in his sitting room lost in thought and reading Chuck Sadler's latest Cowhand novel to block his worries. If only life could be as simple as they were in fiction. He had finished making supper for Murron and Alec and now they were doing their schoolwork, he hoped. He hated these new regulations and he knew that the people of Lochdubh did too. Understandably, they blamed him for it. Hamish couldn't blame them, he didn't like making them hand him their I.D. and treating them as though they were just marks on a database and not people. He couldn't stand the frosty looks from his friends each time he asked them or the not too loud comments about fascism or jack booted thugs. He used to let those comments roll off of him, but now he was beginning to agree.

He heard a pair of footsteps emerge down the stairs. "Where's your schoolwork?" He asked Alec. His suspension ended so he hoped that he was better behaved.

"At school," Alec said dryly.

"Then how were you planning on doing it here?" Hamish asked.

"Mental telepathy," Alec offered. Hamish silenced his kid brother with a look, but then smiled. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Hamish said. The detector dangled on his lap. "Sometimes being a police officer isn't all I hoped."

"Getting a lot of crap then," Alec suggested.

"Aye, that would be an understatement," Hamish said.

"You could just say no," Alec said. "Would anyone really care?"

"They might, " Hamish replied.

"But you hate doing it," Alec said. "Why would you do something that would make Bruce happy?" Hamish grinned. He made his opinions about Bruce known to his younger siblings and it was even a family joke.

"Because, I could lose my job and that may make things difficult for you and Murrie," Hamish sighed.

"Aren't there some things worth standing up for?" Alec asked. "Don't you always tell us to stand up for our rights or we'll fall every time?"

Hamish ruffled his younger brother's hair in the way that irritated him, but somehow comforted him. (Though he never wanted to admit it to his brother)"You know when you aren't being a holy terror, you're actually a smart lad."

"I'll take it as a compliment," Alec said dryly.

"You'd better get in bed, you do have school tomorrow," Hamish quipped.

"I'm looking forward to it," Alec groaned. Hamish looked at the detector and considered.

"Are you mad?" Anderson said as Hamish stepped on the detector and destroyed it. "You just kissed your career good-bye, do you know that?"  
>"Jim, I am not going to let London bully me into doing something that I know is wrong," Hamish retorted. "I have always told my brothers and sisters that they know where they stand and so do I. I agree to this and I will be the biggest hypocrite to them."<p>

"Well if you don't do this, you will be biggest most unemployed honest man around," Jim said dryly. "Hamish regulations state that officers have to report any infractions that their fellow officers do to impair these new requirements, including falsifying data, destroying any links to the system, or refusing to carry the detectors. I am saying this because I am your friend, but I am also a police officer. I am giving you some time to reconsider."

Hamish face was hardened and there was no change. "You do what you have to do, Anderson. I'll do what I have to do." He said. "I'll be on patrol."

Nye exited the building with the other agents carrying the body of Martin Brandell. The detective inspector, Bruce, was pretty cooperative. "Take his body and burn it," he said. "Afterwards, I need you two to go up north."

"Where, sir?" Johnson one of the aides asked.

"To a town called Lochdubh," Nye replied. "He was shot and there's someone there who we can question as to why."

Hamish drove the Land Rover up a hill. It had a dirt narrow road so steering could be difficult to manage. He turned up the radio to give him some rhythm as he steered. He turned a corner when he saw a car, a black sedan, speed up right ahead of him. Hamish pushed the wheel to steady it. "Well that was nice and stupid," he said. The car stopped ahead of him. Hamish honked politely to get it to move, when he saw another similar looking sedan behind him through the rear view mirror. A tall man exited the sedan and approached the Land Rover. He tapped on the window. "Constable Macbeth, I would like you to step outside of your vehicle, please."

Hamish tensed. He understood how many suspects feel. "May, I ask why?" he said.

"Just step out of the car, sir," the man replied. "We would like to have your expertise on a case."

Hamish stopped the Rover and emerged from the vehicle. "What kind of expertise?" He asked.

"Just come with us please," the man said.

There was something about this exchange made Hamish uneasy. "Alright let me get in my car and I will follow you."

"No sir," the man said. "We would like you to come with us."

"I'm afraid that I would rather take my vehicle," Hamish said warily. He stepped away from the road, when someone grabbed him from behind.

"I'm afraid we must insist," the man repeated. Hamish felt a slight jab in his arm as sleep overcame him.

A few hours later, Russell hid as usual in the alley as he saw an unmarked sedan pull into an unfamiliar office. He stepped inside his van and flipped on his laptop. The image showed the parking garage as two men emerged from the sedan holding another figure between them. The rogue agent felt what shreds of humanity that still remain shake inside him as he closed in on the face of the person that they were carrying. He knew one thing: This was something that he couldn't do by himself.

Hamish felt groggy as he woke up. The back of his neck throbbed. He held onto his aching forehead as his eyes adjusted to the light. He was in a small cell like the one at the police station. He rose warily from the cot and paced. Where was he? How did he get here? There was nothing except a light bulb on the ceiling. He walked towards the cell door. It felt like glass. He pounded on it with his fists, but it wouldn't move. "Hey," he said. "What am I doing here? Where am I?" He pounded harder. "You can't keep me in here! I haven't done anything wrong!" There was no answer. "You can't keep me here against my will!  
>I will have nothing good to say about this place, when I get home!" He yelled.<p>

"You won't be getting home," a soft female voice sounded. Hamish crawled to the direction from where the voice was coming from: on the other side of a wall. He looked down at an air vent. "Believe me, "the voice said. "I've been here long enough."

"Who are you?" Hamish asked. "What are you doing here?"

"My name is Caroline Scott," the woman said. "And I'm the same as you. I'm a prisoner here."

"I haven't done anything wrong," Hamish declared. "At least nothing that they have told me!"

"Neither have I," Caroline said. "Chances are no one here has. They just want information and they will do anything to get it."

Hamish gasped in panic. He had to think clearly about what he could do, what these people wanted, and how he was ever going to get out!


End file.
